Fiona shifted in her seat so that she could lean close to Edward. “Is this an interview?” she hissed. “Are you interviewing these women for the role of duchess?In frontof each other?”
“It was Charlotte’s idea,” he muttered. Though it hadn’t seemed quite so harebrained when she’d suggested it.
The door opened, and Simmons entered followed by two footmen toting another easel and paintbox.
“Lady Luella Tarlington,” Simmons announced, stepping aside as the young woman entered. She wore a simple yet elegant dress that had been expertly tailored to emphasize her height and the delicate curve of her collarbone. The watered silk perfectly suited her skin tone, and she moved with a practiced grace many young girls tried for but couldn’t master.
To most, she was considered perfect. Since Amelia’s departure from society, Luella had been crowned theton’s diamond, which was no doubt what put her at the top of his mother’s list. But Edward saw her ruthless ambition. He’d kept her at arm’s length because of it. She was beautiful the way a fox was beautiful, stunning but quick to devour any animal smaller than her.
And by the look she threw Fiona, she had her prey in sight.
Next to him, Fiona stiffened and Edward remembered. The two women had met last year at Amelia’s blasted dinner party. When Fiona had been herself and not Finley. He ran an eye over Fi—her wig, her figure widened at the shoulders with padding, her male attire and worn knee boots. He’d never been fooled by her costume, but plenty of others had been. Would it be enough to fool someone who’d met her before, though?
As Luella set up, half her attention always on Edward, Charlotte continued interrogating the other ladies. “Lady Eva, what would you say your greatest talent is?”
Lady Eva looked Charlotte straight in the eye and replied in the most deadpan tone, “Conversation.” And went back to her painting.
Edward coughed to cover his snort. Perhaps Lady Eva was more interesting than he had gathered. Fiona smiled.
Luella, hand poised in the contrived expression of an artist about to work, looked at Edward. “I would say, the mark of a truly great wife is not what her strengths are, but how she nurtures and highlights the strengths of her husband.”
“Bollocks,” Fiona muttered, not quietly enough.
Luella’s gaze sharpened, fixed on Fiona like a blade held at a throat. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Fiona inclined her head casually, but her fingers dug into her coat sleeves. “Mr. Finley McTavish, at yer service.”
Luella raised an eyebrow. “FinleyMcTavish? I believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your sister. You look very much alike.”
Blast. She knows.It wasn’t her words, exactly. It was the threat her tone carried. The rest of the girls were oblivious to it. To them it must have seemed like polite chitchat, though Lady Marianne watched the exchange with interest.
“We both take after our father,” Fi replied coolly.
Charlotte, the ever-involved host, chimed in. “Isn’t familial resemblance uncanny? Why, I’ve had complete strangers ask if I was related to William. People thought us twins when we were younger.”
Luella’s smile turned cunning. “How interesting it would be to make a direct comparison. Is your sister in residence? Perhaps we could call her in.”
Edward’s stomach tightened. Before he could intervene, Fiona responded.
“She’s nae currently in London. But I will pass on yer regards.”
“Hmmm.” Luella considered Fiona and continued to sketch. “How interesting. I was certain I saw her on Grosvenor Street a few days ago. In the arms of the duke. That was her, was it not, Your Grace?”
Curse it.He hadn’t thought twice about carrying Fiona after her fall. His only goal had been to get her home safely so he could summon the physician. But he’d been a fool not to realize the Duke of Wildeforde could not carry a woman in his arms through Mayfair without being seen by those who knew him, and who would want to know more.
Every girl in the room turned their attention away from their easels and to him.
“That sounds far more salacious than it was,” he said. “Miss McTavish was injured, and traffic had come to a stop. For her health, I helped her home.”
“How kind of you,” Luella said.
From Charlotte’s expression, it was clear that she was realizing that there were undercurrents to this situation that she was unaware of. “My brother is the kindest of souls. Lady Marianne, why don’t you describe how you’ve managed your father’s household since your poor mother passed. I’m sure my brother is keen to know of your skills.”
For the next hour Charlotte, with the help of Haddington’s daughter, kept the conversation on utterly inane matters related to managing a household and engaging with society. It served as both a buffer between him, Luella, and Fiona, and a reminder of his responsibilities—to marry a woman who would bear him an heir, run his household, and support him in the execution of his duties, both political and social.
Any of the women in front of him could fulfill those duties with ease. They held no appeal to him, but they were perfect examples of what a duke should be looking for in a wife.
Not the woman beside him who could barely contain her contempt for the conversation. Who could never fit that mold.
